#1993 #AmericanWriters #ThePleasuresOfTheDamned
Our man was there to meet us, Gary Benson. He also wrote poetry and drove a cab. He was very fat but at least he didn’t look like a poet, he didn’t look North Beach or East Village or l...
Well, I took the scheme sheet and I related everything to sex and age. This guy lived in this house with 3 women. He belt-whipped one (her name was the name of the street and her age th...
the drifting of the mind. the slow loss, the leaking away. one’s demise is not very interesti… from my bed I watch 3 birds throug… one coal black, one dark brown, th…
I don’t know how it happens to people. I had child support, need for something to drink, rent, shoes, shirts, socks, all that stuff. Like everyone else I needed an old car, something to...
I used to hold my social security… up in the air, he told me, but I was so small they couldn’t see it,
the legs are gone and the hopes—th… and I haven’t shaved in sixteen da… but the mailman still makes his ro… water still comes out of the fauce… myself with glazed and milky eyes…
they don’t make it the beautiful die in flame— suicide pills, rat poison, rope, w… ever... they rip their arms off,
It was a Wednesday night, 12:30 am and I was very sick. My stomach was raw, but I managed to hold down a few beers. Tammie was with me and she seemed sympathetic. Dancy was at her grand...
I hear them outside: “does he always type this late?” “no, it’s very unusual.” “he shouldn’t type this
A sound awakened me. It was not quite daylight. Cecelia was moving around getting dressed. I looked at my watch. “I want to watch the sun come up. I love sunrises!” “I haven’t been able...
she’s from Texas and weighs 103 pounds and stands before the mirror combing oceans of reddish hair
the blue pencil of the wave shots of yellow road a steering wheel an insane woman sitting next to you
the phone rang at 1:30 a.m. and it was a man from Denver: “Chinaski, you got a following in Denver...” “yeah?”
the swans drown in bilge water, take down the signs, test the poisons, barricade the cow from the bull,
this head like a saucer decorated with everything as lip to lip we hang in mechanical joy; my hands blaze with arias